CAUGHT AGAIN
The bridge was a fine iron one without lights. The road which led to it was not much travelled, and it looked as if it might carry us over—without accident. Anyway, it was our only chance.
We walked on to the bridge, taking care to make no noise, and striking a gait that was neither slow nor fast.
We were nine tenths of the way over the bridge, with hope springing in our tired hearts at each step. Away to the west, straight ahead of us, distant lights twinkled. We thought they were in Holland, and they beckoned to our tired hearts like the lights of home.
We were only about ten feet from the other side of the bridge, when... suddenly a light was flashed on us, a great dazzling light that seemed to scorch and wither us. It seemed to burn our prison-clothes into our very souls. I'm sure the rings on my knees showed through my overcoat!
Into the circle of light three German soldiers came, with rifles levelled.
They advanced upon us until their bayonets were touching us. And again we saw our dream of freedom fade!
The soldiers took us in charge and marched us to Lathen, a town near by, where part of the hotel was used as barracks. They showed us no hostility; it was just part of their day's work to gather in escaping prisoners.
There was a map on the wall, and when they asked us where we came from, we showed them Canada on the map of the North American Continent. They were decent-looking young fellows and asked us many questions about Canada.
Although it was about midnight there seemed to be people on the streets, which were brilliantly lighted. A Sergeant Major came in, with a gendarme, who had two women with him. They were well-dressed looking women, but I kept wondering what they were doing out so late.
The Sergeant Major and the policeman lacked the friendliness of the privates, and the former began the conversation by saying, "England ist kaputt." The Sergeant Major repeated his statement, with greater emphasis, and I put more emphasis on my reply, and there we stuck! It did not seem that we could get any farther. It seemed a place to say, "Time will tell."
The gendarme was a coarse, beer-drinking type, and I kept wondering how two such fine-looking women came to be with him. The younger and handsomer one was not his wife, I knew—he was so attentive to her. The other one may have been, though she was evidently his superior in every way. Still, even in our own country very fine women are sometimes careless about whom they marry.
The Sergeant Major poured out a volume of questions in German, to which we replied, "Nix forstand."
Then the gendarme thought something was being overlooked, and he suggested that we be searched. I was afraid of that, and had taken the precaution of hiding the compass as well as I could, by putting it in the bottom of the pasteboard box that held our shaving-stick. The stick had been worn down, leaving room for the compass at the bottom of the box.
The soldier who searched us did not notice the compass, and handed the shaving-stick back to me, and I breathed easier. But the gendarme had probably done more searching than the soldier, and asked me for it. He immediately let the stick fall out, and found the compass, which he put in his pocket, with a wink at the others... and it was gone.
All our little articles were taken from us and put into two parcels, which we were allowed to carry, but not keep, and which were eventually returned to us, and, whether it was done by carelessness or not I do not know, but by some fortunate circumstance my maps were left in my pay-book case and put in the package, but I did not see them until after my punishment was over.
Map made from Paper which came in a Parcel, wrapped around a Fruit-Cake. Notice the stain caused by the cake. This is the map that was hidden in the cigarette-box
My notebook attracted the attention of the gendarme, and he took it from me. I had made entries each day, and these he read aloud, translating them into German as he went, much to the apparent entertainment of the two women, who laughed at him, with a forced gaiety which confirmed my diagnosis of their relationship. I think he was crediting me with entries I had never made, for the central figure seemed to be one "Rosie Fräulein," whom I did not have the pleasure of meeting.
We could see that although the privates were friendly, there was no semblance of friendliness in either the gendarme or the Sergeant Major. I think they would have gladly shot us on the spot—if they had dared. They were pronounced cases of anglophobia.
The gendarme at last broke out into English, cutting his words off with a snarl:
"What do you fellows want to get back for anyway? England is no good! England is a liar, and a thief."
When he said this, I could see Edwards's face grow white and his eyes glitter. He was breathing hard, like a man going up a steep hill, and his hands were opening and closing. He walked over to the gendarme and glared in his face,—"What do I want to get back for?" he repeated in a steady voice, stretched tight like a wire, "I'll tell you—this is not any ordinary war, where brave men fight each other. This is a war against women and children and old men. I have fought with the Boers in Africa, but I bore them no ill-will—they fought like men and fought with men. I've been through Belgium—I've seen what you have done. I have boys of my own—little fellows—just like the ones you cut the hands off—and I will tell you why I want to get back—I want to serve my country and my God—by killing Germans—they're not fit to live!"
The women drew back in alarm, though I do not think they understood the words. Instinctively I drew up beside Edwards, for I thought it was the end; but to our surprise the brutal face of the gendarme relaxed into a broad grin, and he turned to the women and Sergeant Major and made some sort of explanation. We did not know what was coming, and then a controversy took place between the two men as to what should be done with us. The gendarme wanted to take us, but the ladies protested, and at last we were led away by the two privates, carrying our two little packages of belongings.
We went into an adjoining room, where a coal fire burned in a small round heater, whose glow promised comfort and warmth. The privates very kindly brought us a drink of hot coffee and some bread, and pulled two mattresses beside the stove and told us to go to sleep. Then they went out and brought back blankets, and with friendly looks and smiles bade us good-night, incidentally taking our shoes with them.
"The Germans are a spotty race," said Ted, as we lay down. "Look at these two fellows—and then think of those two mugs that any decent man would want to kill at sight!"—He pointed to the room where we had left the gendarme and the Sergeant Major. "Oh—wouldn't I enjoy letting a bit of daylight through that policeman's fat carcass!"
Next morning, when we awakened, our guards came again and brought us some more coffee and bread. It was a bright morning, of sunshine, with a frost which glistened on the pavement and the iron railing surrounding the building we were in.
The streets were full of people, and streamers of bunting festooned the buildings. Children were on the streets, carrying flags, and the place had a real holiday appearance.
"Suppose this is all in our honor, Sim," Ted said as he looked out of the window. "I wonder how they knew we were coming—we really did not intend to."
One of the guards, who had a kodak and was taking pictures of the celebration, asked us if he could take our pictures. So we went out to the front door, which was hung with flags, and had a picture taken.
"What are the flags up for?" we asked him.
"It is the birthday of the All-Highest," he replied proudly.
Ted said to me, so the guard could not hear, "Well, the old man has my sincere wishes—that it may be his last."
During the forenoon we were taken by rail to Meppen. The Sergeant Major came with us, but did not stay in the compartment with the guards and us. On the way the guard who had taken our photograph showed us the proof of it, and told us he would send us one, and had us write down our addresses. He must have been a photographer in civil life, for he had many splendid pictures with him, and entertained us by showing them to us. I remember one very pretty picture of his young daughter, a lovely girl of about fourteen years of age, standing under an apple-tree.
Before the Sergeant Major handed us over to the military authorities at Meppen, he told them what Edwards had said about wanting to go back to kill Germans, but he did not tell all that Edwards had said. However, they treated us politely and did not seem to bear us any ill-will.
In the civil jail at Meppen to which we were taken, and which is a fine building with bright halls and pleasant surroundings, we were put in clean and comfortable cells. There was a bed with mattress and blankets, which in the daytime was locked up against the wall, toilet accommodations, drinking-water, chair, table, wash-basin, and comb. It looked like luxury to us, and after a bowl of good soup I went to sleep.
I wakened the next morning much refreshed and in good spirits. The guard was polite and obliging, and when I said, "Guard, I like your place," his face broke into a friendly grin which warmed my heart. Ted had spoken truly when he said the Germans were a "spotty race." It is a spotty country, too, and one of the pleasant spots to us was the civil jail at Meppen.
Of course, to men who had been sleeping in beds and eating at tables and going in and out at their own pleasure, it would have been a jail; but to us, dirty, tired, hungry, red-eyed from loss of sleep, and worn with anxiety, it was not a jail—it was a haven of rest. And in the twenty-four hours that we spent there we made the most of it, for we well knew there were hard times coming!